Like a Bird Astray
by Wofl
Summary: There's something different about Sam, and Dean can't quite put his finger on it, but he's pretty sure it's not just college. AU. Set in S1. Probably wincest eventually.


This is an experimental fic and I'm pretty sure it will entertain only myself, but for anyone wanting to follow along at home, here's what you need to know:

This is an AU.

...really, that's it. For the rest, you'll just have to read. It will be revealed in time. Hey! It entertains me! That's what counts. :F

* * *

There's something different about Sam. It's subtle, but Dean notices everything. How could he not? It's his job after all.

Sometimes, he can just chock it all up to college and shrug it off.

Other times, it's not that simple.

--

The car is quiet. Dean drives and Sam looks out the window, lost in his own thoughts.

There's nothing Dean can say. He can't fix what's been broken, he can't chase away the dreams of fire and blood. He can't stop Sam from remembering.

Sam looks like he wants to fly away. He looks delicate; as if his bones might be hollow and his skin made of paper. Dean's afraid, sometimes, that even a touch will shatter his brother. He doesn't touch Sam much, these days.

Sam stretches out his arms, yawing wide, arms contorting awkwardly in the confined space as he tries to work the kinks out of his cramped muscles. Dean forgets how big Sam is, sometimes.

But that's not a surprise. Dean forgets a lot of things. He barely remembers what Sam looks like when he's happy or well rested. The oppressive silence almost makes Dean forget what his own voice sounds like.

It's a relief when Sam falls asleep a few minutes later. The reprieve probably won't last long, but it's better than nothing. Even a heartsick and grieving Sam, tormented with guilt and nightmares is better than no Sam at all.

His eyes slide away from the road, resting on Sam's slumped form for a few seconds before he turns away.

He hadn't noticed at first, the differences upstaged completely by nights filled with screams. Sam thrashing in his bed and Dean shaking him awake, pale and alarmed. Sam was too withdrawn for Dean to see anything at all.

But now he can tell. Sam's getting better, the nightmares don't come as often. Dean can see his little brother hiding underneath all that sorrow. Something is different.

It's not much. Just little things.

--

It's the way he picks at his food. He eats, sure, but never clears his plate, inspects everything before it goes into his mouth.

Sam just stares blankly when Dean suggests they see who can eat their burger faster. He mutters that it's bad for the digestion and shrugs Dean off. Dean calls him a fruit and tries not to let the dismissal hurt too much.

Sam is grieving, after all. He'll loosen up in time.

--

It's the fact that Sam won't eat poultry.

When the ten-piece box of chicken nuggets is pelted across the room and hits him in the head, Dean assumes it's because Sam doesn't want crap from McDonalds. _More for me_, he declares, and scarfs them all.

He notes the way Sam cringes away when he takes the first bite. Sam doesn't look at Dean again until he's done eating. When he does, Dean thinks he looks a bit ill.

He doesn't say anything, though. And a few days later when Sam refuses a turkey sandwich in much the same way, Dean knows it wasn't the McDonalds food. He wonders what it means, but he doesn't ask. Talking is for sissies.

--

It's the way Sam sits on furniture, for crissake.

Instead of sitting in the seat like a normal human being, Sam will perch on the back of the chair, feet planted heavily on the seat to keep himself from tipping over. It makes him tall as fuck-all. It's really disconcerting, that's what.

There's no _reason_ for it. Not that Dean can see. And Sam only does it when they're alone.

Dean would ask him about it, but Sam looks so much more relaxed up there, that Dean can't bring himself to make Sam subconscious about it. He lets it go, but it's still friggen weird.

--

Sometimes, Dean thinks it's just college. They way Sam seems more comfortable in his own skin now - it's just because he's had time to find himself, grow into those too-long limbs of his.

But other times...

Sam stirs in the passenger seat and Dean's train of thought crashes into a mountain. He divides his attention between the road and his brother, wondering if he should just shake Sam awake now in a preemptive strike.

He checks his watch. But Christ, it's only been ten minutes.

Before Dean can peel a hand away from the wheel Sam sighs softly and turns his face towards the driver's side. His lips tug upwards. It seems he's having a good dream, for once.

Dean smirks at that, reaching out to brush Sam's bangs aside gently. In his sleep, Sam leans into the touch and makes a whining noise that almost sounds like a chirp.

Sometimes, Dean knows absolutely and unarguably that something is different. And it's times like these that's he's positive it's not just college. 


End file.
